Note: Long ago I read, among circus lion tamers, the tiger was considered the most dangerous of the big cats with which they worked. “A lion,” they said, “can be trained. It can be raised in captivity and will readily acknowledge who is the boss. A tiger? That’s different. You never turn your back on a tiger. They refuse to be domesticated. They can never be trusted. Never.”
Several times in my life I have found myself in a “situation” because something sounded interesting. “Why not!” I would think, “Why not?”
Boredom will do that to you.
“Careful,” I should have cautioned myself, “Careful. What you do today may threaten your life.”
Yeah, I should have thought that when I heard, “Hey! Anybody want to help me move a tiger!?!”
But I didn’t.
Instead, Rich and I swung away from the bar and turned toward the voice. Rich greeted him with “Hi, Gary! What’s this about a tiger?”
Gary’s was a good six feet tall. His black t-shirt appeared ready to split from the pressure of his well-toned body. His muscled arms strained against the flimsy material.
“Susan is rehearsing in a while,” Gary replied. “I’ve got to move her tiger to the club. I guess she’s gonna use it in her act tonight.”
I was later to learn the club in question was one of the many topless bars that populated the area around us. This was still before San Diego’s Lamplight District cleaned up the hookers and late-night johns and musicians looking to score drugs sometime before dawn.
A part of town next to a skid-row, complete with its all-night theaters, raucous gay-bars, and peepshows. This bar was on the edge of that area.
The inside edge.
Still daytime, the streets would morph in a few hours into a different world only hinted at while the sun was out.
I soon learned “Susan” was Susan Mann, who I was informed was a relatively well-known adult-movie star who was touring some clubs with her act… and her tiger.
Gary revealed she owned a White Siberian Tiger, and any movement required the police to roadblock the entire street in front of the bar and the entire two-blocks to the destination club during transport.
Having a casual interest in big cats and having visited San Diego’s famous zoo, I knew the White Siberian was among the largest, and most ferocious of the tiger family. Watching them pace back and forth in their generous enclosure reminded the crowds this beast deserved the one-hundred square miles it would rule on its own if it were in the wild.
Gary told us at least five people were required to accompany the tiger.
“Wanna help?” Rich looked at me.
“Sure, why not?” I shrugged. Though not interested in a topless bar, getting close to a tiger did attract my attention. Gathering a couple of other volunteers from the bar we headed next door.
Police cars were setting up in the intersection at the end of the block and wooden construction horses already blocked the sidewalk.
A small crowd had gathered at the barrier blocking the far intersection. Evidently someone had “let the cat out of the bag” that a tiger would soon cross this intersection. We would be walking right by them in a few minutes, and they wanted a good view of the beast.
I’m sure for a second, just a split second, I asked myself if this was wise.
Maybe I didn’t.
Maybe I never considered how wise I was to be willingly going along with this plan. Either way, I followed along, and we turned left and walked through the front door of the now long closed Off-Broadway Theatre.
The Off-Broadway had been one of the last burlesque houses in the US and had closed, with all the others, around 1970. I had attended several of these performances but that is an entirely different story.
Inside the front door of the theatre Gary picked up a heavy chain with individual links about 1 ½ inches wide and 3 inches long. We walked through the theatre headed en-masse toward the stage.
Climbing the side stairs we passed the runway, closely brushing by the still hanging heavy velvet curtains. The room was eerily quiet and spooky, still speaking with a silent voice and the familiar smells of the years of entertainment in its past.
We headed backstage where we descended into an area under the stage. Old dressing rooms doors hung open revealing abandoned dressing tables, props, and debris.
I could feel my heart pound. We were getting closer. This was a very small, enclosed space. Closed spaces don’t usually bother me. This felt different.
A single naked bulb lit the hall. Our shadows danced on the faded paint as the ancient light swung from its thin cord. I looked around.
No room to run. One way out.
Even the bitter end of the hall and its blank concrete wall was not very far.
I heard Gary’s chain rattle as he adjusted it in his hand. It was about 5 or so feet of chain and he had it coiled neatly in his hand when we reached a very large closed and padlocked door.
The sound the chain made as it echoed ominously off the narrow passageway walls lent a mood of tension. I realized I was holding my breath and forced my solar plexus to relax.
Unlike the other doors, the outside of this portal was covered in a layer of sheet steel lending a greater air of danger regarding the beast that waited inside.
As Gary unlocked the padlock, he announced he would be entering alone and would only open the door enough to squeeze through. He turned back and said with a grimace, “I fed him this morning so we should be okay, but if you hear any screaming… leave the door closed.”
He punctuated the last with a look at each of us in turn. “You won’t want to open it. Don’t worry about me. This is why I make the big bucks.”
I had assumed the beast was going to be caged. It seemed I was wrong. Again, I should have questioned my wisdom.
Gary disappeared alone through an opening barely wide enough to accept his somewhat massive bulk. Silence.
Then more rattling. Chain rattling.
The door opened a crack and stopped. I heard the chain rattle again as Gary adjusted his hold.
The door opened.
“Stand back!”
I tried to take a single step backwards, but my back was already against the opposite wall of the narrow hallway.
I took a deep breath and waited.
Gary and the cat stepped out.
It wore a wide collar that was connected to the short chain held in Gary’s hand. Gary pulled back against the pull of the beast with a single hand.
Only Gary and Rich stood between me and this wild creature. I’m not sure my eyes could have been wider. Again, I found myself holding my breath.
First it smelled Gary’s pants leg and moved to Rich’s. “He’ll have to smell everyone before he’s comfortable,” Gary said. “Just stay where you are, and he’ll get to you.”
He cautioned us, “Don’t move.”
I was next.
The monster smelled my leg and rubbed his face against my leg obviously scenting my own tabby. I tensed and again, I held my breath.
He flipped over on his back.
I looked at Gary. He nodded.
I crouched down and reached for its wide furry chest; my clawed fingers crawled toward its belly. The beast waited for a tummy scratch which I was more than happy to provide.
A loud purr issued from his mouth as he wrapped his paws around my hand and lapped it twice with its sandpaper tongue. He yawned. His maw opening wide and revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. He tightened his grip on my arm and licked my hand again.
“Let’s go,” said Gary.
With another little scratch I withdrew my hand and the beautiful creature rolled to its feet. I scratched it behind its right ear. It turned its face toward mine and we caught each other’s eyes. It stood up straight, its tail whipped back and forth, tasting the air.
This rare jungle beast stood tall before us all.
Big, soft, fuzzy, and furry like the big overgrown kitty that it was… or as tall as a small, newly weaned, tiger kitten, could stand… about 15 inches. He was a dirty mottled white… almost yellow, with dirty-looking spots that were starting to elongate into stripes.
I understand White Tigers only grow stripes and turn fully white around six months old.
We all laughed at the joke and oohed when the cat stretched its paws forward and stretched its body its full 2½ foot length.
Gary had Rich and one other guy lead the way with me and one other person bring up the rear. After climbing the stairs, we crossed the stage to the short stage left stairs which was closest to the side door we would be exiting.
When we got to the stairs Rich and his partner started down the steps. The stairs extended four feet down into a darker, shaded section before leading toward the outside door.
Gary paused when the cat pulled against the chain.
“He doesn’t like going downhill,” he announced. “This may take some coaxing.” I was aware many cats resist going downhill. That’s the usual reason they get stuck in trees.
I stepped forward and bent to scratch the kitten behind its ear and it brushed up against my leg.
I stepped onto the first stair.
The cat followed rubbing against my leg. One step at a time the tiger kitten & I proceeded down the stairway and out into the street.
Gary suggested I walk up front with him. Delighted to help, I did. Two whole blocks.
How I get myself into these situations I’ll never completely understand. A strange compulsion for new experiences, I guess.
But no matter how the landscape is altered by the passing of time, I’ll certainly never forgot my 2-block walk… with a White… Siberian… Tiger.
“Here kitty-kitty…”